“Another round before I head back home?”
“I would never say no to that, Your Grace.”
Raph signaled to the waiter, his mind already wandering to Brentmere, where Camelia waited for him.
CHAPTER 22
Camelia jolted awake in her chamber, the stillness of the night shattered by a faint, piercing cry. Her heart raced, the remnants of sleep evaporating as she sat up, her nightgown clinging to her skin.
Who’s crying?
The sound tugged at her, raw and desperate, pulling her from the warmth of her bed.
Something was wrong. She couldn’t ignore it.
She slipped her feet into soft slippers, grabbed her nightgown, lit a lantern, and stepped into the corridor. The cry grew clearer as she moved. It was a soft, muffled sob that echoed from the direction of Pamela’s chamber.
Camelia’s chest tightened, her thoughts racing with worry and resolve. She ran down the corridor.
The manor’s silence amplified each creak of the floorboards, and her lantern shook dangerously, like a lone beacon in the dark as she reached Pamela’s door. She pushed it open, the hinges whispering in protest, and stepped inside.
“Pamela?” she called softly.
Pamela lay curled up in her bed, her dark curls fanned across her pillow, her face contorted in distress as soft sobs escaped her lips.
The sight pierced Camelia’s heart, a sharp ache blooming within.
Oh, Pamela, what’s haunting you?
She set the lantern on the bedside table, its glow illuminating the girl’s trembling form.
“Pamela,” she called softly, hoping to rouse her.
Pamela didn’t stir, but her whimpers grew sharper, and her hands clutched at the blankets.
Camelia sank onto the edge of the bed, her heart sore with empathy. The girl was so small and so fragile, she wanted to protect her.
She reached out and ran her fingers through Pamela’s hair, smoothing the curls with a tender touch.
“Shh, Pamela, it’s all right,” she cooed, her voice a soothing lullaby. “I’m here, sweet girl. You’re not alone.”
Camelia’s heart clenched as she recalled Margaret’s tormented nights after their mother’s death, how she had soothed her sister with gentle touches and whispered comforts night after night.
She could see the same pain in Pamela. She knew it all too well.
Her fingers continued to stroke Pamela’s curls, and gradually, the girl’s soft sobs quieted, her trembling form easing into a fragile calm under Camelia’s tender care.
“Mother?”
Camelia thought she had heard wrong.
The word was a fragile plea, barely audible through Pamela’s quivering lips, before her breathing deepened and her body relaxed into heavy slumber.
Camelia’s throat tightened, tears pricking her eyes.
Pamela was longing for her mother.
The weight of her pain and the truth Raph hid about her father pressed down on Camelia. He’s shielding her, but he’s breaking her heart unknowingly.
